The Fable of the Freckle

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Poems


Just a Halloween poem about a fable. True or not, who knows?

Submitted: October 10, 2017

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Submitted: October 10, 2017

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The Iron Gate made a piercing sequel

As they entered the graveyard home

Of ghouls, goblins, ghosts and the like

In the Hamlet of Puddlestone.

 

There were six of them that entered

Two others got scared and ran away

They didn't want to play a part

Of the rising, of the body, of Thomas Day.

 

They tiptoed past the Banshees

And scurried past the bloody pond.

They had come to revive Thomas Day

With the help of a stolen Wizard's wand.

 

"I doubt we should do this," Sally cried,

"Family or not, he's been dead a while.

And what will we gain, a ghostly pain?

This sort of thing is nasty and vile!"

 

"Quiet," Tom said, "or you'll wake the dead,

We are here to test the Wizard's power.

We'll raise our uncle from his forlorn grave

But it must be done by the witching hour."

 

Well they snuck over here and they tiptoed there

Then they slithered across some cobblestones

Soon they were standing at the grave of Day

Waving the wand over his bones.

 

The ghost of their uncle burst forth from his grave

Then he grabbed the wand as he let-out a grown.

He cursed the children for disturbing his peace

Then he cast a smell of his own.

 

"Cursed be you and your children's children

For your skin shall grow red under the sun.

You shall never tan, not woman or man,

You shall freckle, instead, until time is done!"

 

Through the ages, they say, it's been that way,

And it could be a curse for that grievous sin.

Others say, “It just the mixing of genes

Causing Red hair, Freckles, and tan-less skin.

 

 

JE Falcon

10-08-2017


© Copyright 2019 JE Falcon. All rights reserved.

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